


Kismet

by cae_kun



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Batjokes, Bruce is selfish, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Madness, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Possessive Behavior, S02E05, Sickfic, Slow Burn, Tags will be added, Vigilante end, costumes come in later i promise, i havent forgot a new chapter is coming, jokes they were lovers the whole time, lets work on that, vigilante joker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-18 07:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14208141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cae_kun/pseuds/cae_kun
Summary: A force pulls them to one another; not unlike gravity, but much stonger, and much, much darker.Bruce can't stay away. John can no longer hide what has been lurking deep within.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't write summaries for my life so thanks for stopping by. I've had this chapter started since episode 5 dropped and I've been toying with it ever since. I've got lots of ideas for this fic but I know I won't get moving on it until I move on haha. Things won't darken until later so I'm sorry to disappoint anyone but I hope you'll bear with me along the way <3

The loud metal clank of the door being unlocked rushed a wave of nausea over Bruce, even though every door leading to this one sounded completely identical to it. Irrational? Maybe a little, but it's what is behind this door-- _who_ is behind _this_ door-- that has been consuming his thoughts for countless days on end.

"Bruce..." John repeated for a second time to himself as the man strode through the opening. Swallowing hard, Bruce held his smile steady, willing years of practice forth to prove his skills of reserve true. 

"Hello, John."

The ward door rattled and slammed shut startling both men. A thought flickered across Bruce's mind--he could still turn back now, catch the guard's attention before he could reach the end of the hall. He had been assured privacy upon his visitation, insisted by Bruce himself. The nature of his visit he wasn't quite clear of from the start, but staying away kept him awake at night; the maniacal laughter and the merciless carve of the Joker's knife haunted him endlessly. Bruce had been certain of it then, to chase the nightmares away with the sight of his friend--silly and far from perfect John Doe--but he didn't feel very sure of it now. 

"Buddy! Long time, no see." John rose from the bed, reaching to extend his hand for a more familiar gesture. Bruce hesitated, eyeing the bloodied bandage haphazardly wrapped around the pale hand. The wound should have been long healed over by now; Bruce suspected John must have been interrupting the process somehow. John made a face and clenched his fist, quickly withdrawing and tucking both of his hands behind his back. The tension was thick in the air, despite the two both praying away an awkward atmosphere. So naturally, John laughed. The nervous chuckle was like a knife twisting into Bruce's gut.

"I guess you could say that," Bruce mused, stepping further into the room. "Twenty-three days of separation compared to seeing each other almost every day definitely feels... aberrant." John lit up instantly, genuine laughter buzzing past his lips as he fell back onto his mattress pad.

"Oh Brucie, counting the days now are we? Seems more fitting of a job for me, considering I'm the one here in the padded cell." His voice fell as he tucked his chin down into what would have been a childish pout had the resentment not been so potent in his tone. His eyes seemed to search muddied thoughts for the right thing to say. Bruce only hoped whatever medication Arkham had been providing John with was actually of any help to the man. A part of him argued the medicine given to him the first time John was in the ward should have helped them avoid their current situation altogether. Perhaps John's fears of this place had merit all along; this treatment couldn't truly be what he needed. John deserved better. Bruce ground his teeth at the thought.

John seemed to return to his normal self, catching eyes with Bruce as he pulled out a chair, small made from cheap plastic that was tucked beneath the desk at the corner of the room. 

"You must be keeping track by the shades darkening under your eyes. What... Big Bad Batsie can't sleep?" 

Bruce sighed as he sat, angling himself better before the other man. As if on cue, subconsciously he pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed beneath his eyes to encourage some blood flow. Weighing his options, he decided to be truthful. He owed John that much, now more than ever.

"Not since the night we last saw one another in the control booth at Ace. Each day seems longer than the next... everything became an erratic mess without tracking it on paper. Clean up, for one, has taken a lot longer than anyone would like it to, but things are finalizing now." Bruce settled into the awkward chair, positioning his arm across the back in a comical attempt to get comfortable. John's grin splits his cheeks; it looks menacing even without all the makeup. 

"The dust is finally settling then, eh? No one to rise up out of the ashes yet?"

"No, not yet. Though there's a part of me that hopes you'll be my phoenix."

"Reborn... heh. Can you imagine the kind of feathers I'd swank?" John broke into a deep chuckle that grew into a pitched laughter, triggering goosebumps along Bruce's skin.

"I would've overseen it sooner had they let me. The doctors wanted you to have a probationary period to see if you could handle visitors."

"Pfft, not like there's anyone else that would visit me anyways." 

"Given your... modest track record, and that you were calm and orderly sooner then what was expected of you, they believed you were entitled to limited visitation early." Bruce fought to ignore John's words but they still stung. The man really didn't have anyone else but _Bruce_. Remorse filled his chest with a heaviness as he remembered the photos of the two of them pinned up on the wall of the booth.

"Does being _Bruce Wayne_ have anything to do with the fact that I'm even allowed visitations _at all_? That I've been granted my old space with more perks then I had the _first_ time I was here?" Bruce bit his cheek, fighting the urge to sweep it under the rug like always. The constant struggle to coddle John wasn't fair, even if he argued it was just Bruce trying to protect him. He only wants whats best for John. Sending him back here was horrifying enough to Bruce, he couldn't help but do as much in his power to make the switch back less humiliating as possible. Maybe his involvement was having the opposite effect. Bruce slowly lost his posture, 

"Maybe a little--"

"Ugh, c'mon Bruce! Really?" John pulled his cot pillow out from behind his back and tossed it halfheartedly at Bruce, square into his face.

"I'm sorry, John." For everything. For Riddler. For the Agency. Even for this flat, clumpy, smelly old pillow. Man, this thing is gross.

"Not to be rude, or anything," John pacified, "but why are you even here?" Even under the intensity of the fluorescent light, John's eyes only reflected a dull, broken green. Bruce leaned forward, his eyes falling to the floor as he held the pillow in his lap.

"I needed to tell you something. I wanted to talk to my friend." John's eyebrows shot up and so did his demeanour. He crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap, leaning forward in earnest. 

"Oh! Of course, of course." John was too quick to forgive, and Bruce wished he had never taken advantage of that. He wanted to make sure no one could ever do that to John again. _Never._

"I've chosen to not continue with my... nightly episodes."

"Your what?" John scrunched his face, narrowing his eyes at Bruce.

"You know..." John shook his head and in turn, Bruce rolled his eyes. He raised both his index fingers next to his temples and scowled at the man across from him. 

"OH!" John cackled before suddenly clamping a hand over his mouth. He winked instead with a soft whisper, "Gotcha!" He blinked twice before Bruce's words processed completely through his mind. "Wait-- why?!"

"Al helped me come to an understanding about recent events and... well... there are healthier, more moral options. Things were becoming... lost in context, translation... grey zones we're beginning to form--"

"Wait wait wait, quit being so vague, Bruce." John was at the edge of the bed now, shrinking the gap they had forced between one another. "Did you... want to stop?"

"No. I mean, yes. I mean-- ugh." John reached out and pulled the pillow from the vice grip Bruce had formed around it. He forced himself to look up at John. "Al threatened to leave." A deep sigh. "He doesn't believe he can handle the stress anymore, and I don't blame him. Things have become increasingly... intense." 

"I guess I must've stirred the pot quite a bit, huh?"

"I wouldn't say you're entirely to blame. Al thinks I've lost my sense of morals, and maybe that's because of you... but I can't help it, John. Maybe you were right, maybe I am pretty messed up, but you're my friend, and I can't let you go. I can see the good in you, no matter what anyone else sees or thinks. I believe in you." 

Tears began rolling down John's cheeks.

"Bruce Wayne, you cut that out right now!" Bruce huffed a breath of hot air and reached for his kerchief. John thankfully accepted the silky square and released a deep lung full of air through his nose into the fabric. Bruce shook his head dismissively, eyeing the crumpled hankie as John tried to offer it back.

"Keep it, I've got plenty." 

A sudden duplet of bangs on the door jolted both of them to their feet.

"Two minutes, Wayne." 

John shot him a look of puppy dog eyes, obviously panicked at the visitation ending so soon.

"You've got money-- buy us some time!"

Bruce scoffed and stepped back to return the chair to its rightful place. He considered for a moment telling John how much he _already spent_ to get this visitation. It was a discussion he would rather not spark, especially without the time to explain.

"In retrospect, it seems I've caused more harm than good. Too much negativity is being drawn to Gotham and I can't accept the responsibility of that anymore." Bruce straightened himself out, smoothing his suite and moving to stand before the door. "Wayne Enterprises will be going above and beyond to aid the GCPD in any way possible." 

"You're really choosing to hide behind the mask... forever?" John all but whispered. It looked as if his soul was crumbling. Come to think of it, Bruce noticed how slight the man was beginning to look. Was he not eating? Maybe it was the lighting. Possibly the lack of exercise from being trapped between four walls, it could be anything really.

"I'm freeing myself of it," Bruce bit back almost defensively. The mask he was giving up was the literal one, there were no other masks... or at least that's what he had convinced himself of.

"You can't truly believe that, can you?"

He huffed, mildly vexed and turned for the exit.

"Bruce!" He would have crashed into the door if Bruce hadn't been the size he was. John threw his arms around Bruce's midsection and buried his face between his shoulder blades. They stayed like that for a moment, John channelling every ounce of energy into holding Bruce with all his strength. The same reoccurring guilt reared itself back into position, lodging high into his throat. With a sigh, Bruce lifted his hand to rest over one of John's clamped tightly under his ribcage. They stood, breathing and silent until the door unlocked and the air was shifting again.

  


The next day John was given a state of the art memory foam pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, im really sorry. I wanted this chatper posted waaay sooner but this month has been really busy and its not nearly over for me quite yet. I want to thank you all for your patience and feedback! I love being able to respond to you guys and share the excitement. <3<3<3<3<3

Bruce comes to visit every chance he gets. 

It begins with consecutive visits every Tuesday or Wednesday when business was slow at the tower, allowing him to slip away without much notice. Now he simply schedules appointments to avoid interference. Weekends gave him more flexibility but drew more attention from the influx of other visitors at the hospital. The exposure made Bruce nervous that tabloids would eventually grab hold of the news and draw attention to the mysterious side of his private life. He hid his efforts with nondescript cars, alternating hats and dark sunglasses; John thought it was absolutely hilarious.

Bruce brings games and novels and Xerox pages from colouring books, thoughtfully picked illustrations he thinks John might particularly like. Tedious, it seemed, but well rewarded by every smile that they brought to John's face. It made Bruce feel better that it was him pleasing John this time, hoping to make amends for his previous ignorance. It didn't take long, however, before the guilt melted down and the pleasure of doing things to make John happy became truly genuine. So, of course, he made extra copies just in case John had a spark of inspiration and decides he wants the chickens to be coloured red because _oh! what if the farmer is repainting the barn and he trips over a trough and spills it all over the coup!_

Anything that can be easily sharpened or fashioned into a weapon was not permitted in points of access for patients, but Bruce found a way to convince the asylum to let him bring pencil crayons for John (under the condition each one was accounted for by staff before and after he entered the cell). Eventually, John had his own set of 60 wax crayons and a plastic sharpener that was integrated into the design of the paper box. He kept them in a meticulous order; completely randomized and chaotic to Bruce, but very obvious to John. He tried to explain it to Bruce once but it left both of them very confused and frustrated with one another by the end of the discussion. Bruce could tell his John was appreciative though, never asking for more but always using the most of what Bruce provided; it made him feel his efforts were being acknowledged.

It's not long before 23.5 hours inside the cell turns into 23, then 22.5, 22, 21, and suddenly John is allowed out in the yard upon his own request for as long as he likes (within permitted outdoor hours of course.) Bruce likes to come after allotted visiting times now when the asylum quiets down in the evening. He also prefers it because that way he can hear about all the things John has done that day.

* * *

They're sitting together on the bed reading a book. Usually, John keeps the readings for himself on his own time and saves the games for when his buddy comes to visit, but it been a nearly two weeks since they've seen each other. There was an undisclosed incident at the asylum and as hard as he fought, Bruce was not permitted any contact with John whatsoever. He doesn't pry when John refuses to answer at first, but he doesn't dismiss his own curiosity either, keeping it open for when John was ready. Bruce considers a new mattress as he shifts his weight on the thinly padded roll. 

However, something is different with John today. Bruce can't help but suspect it is directly linked to the incident. Leading up to this moment, their visits had been more lively with each passing day, and John seemed like his old self again. There was a familiarity from their days when John returned to him after the showdown on the bridge. They had grown closer now, but Bruce wondered where the line had been crossed in their togetherness that defined them as close. Despite his naivety at the funeral, Bruce couldn't help but feel it was in those moments he had truly become Johns friend... or even more.

_Be loved by you._

John looks sickly now, thin and cold to the touch. Bruce nearly fell to his knees at the sight when he was finally allowed back. He's quiet now and hasn't spoken about anything that's happened in the facility related to himself. It's painful and it hollows him inside that John won't say anything despite their newly fashioned trust.

Bruce has John sandwiched between him and the wall on the small cot, John's head resting on Bruce's shoulder as Bruce reads to him. He'd much rather be having a conversation with him, but John requested the book with a fragile voice; fidgeting with the palms of his hands and studying the scratches on Bruce's boots, desperate to find a way out from the questions.

"They stopped feeding me."

"They what?" Bruce nearly drops the book in his hands. He shifts, turning at the waist to better face John.

"I wasn't eating."

"You-- why not?"

"They were lacing my food."

"That's ridiculous John, you cant--"

"No, Bruce, I'm serious." Bruce eyes him. "Believe me on this, I wouldn't have told you if I didn't think it was true!" His lungs feel tight and heart twists in his chest. Bruce desperately wants to think this is a cry for attention but he can't lose faith in John's word now. It makes him sick that this is even a possible course of action by the facility, denying John a basic human right (even if he didn't want to accept it.) He takes a deep breath.

"With what?"

"My medicine. _Pills_. Crushed, dumped-- they stir it in because I wouldn't-- I couldn't take them anymore." He chokes like the words wind him.

"They're given to you to help. Dr. Leeland--"

"I'm not with Dr. Leeland, Bruce. They switched my doctor as soon as I re-entered the facility." That's not what they've been telling Bruce. He grits his teeth. "The pills made me dizzy... sick almost. I can't stand, I-I don't want to move. I can't even think! I just lay around all day, brain dead."

"How come you didn't tell me about this sooner?"

"I didn't want you to get upset at me for not taking the pills. I was waiting for the right opportunity to bring it up to you but... there's just so many other good things for us to focus on, so many fun things to share... I didn't want my time with you to be effected."

"This is why I couldn't see you these last few weeks."

"They held me down, Bruce. I-I did what-what I had to to survive, they were going to _force_ them down my throat."

"Are they not telling you what this medication is supposed to help you with?" Bruce's voice drops to a tenor he hasn't used in many nights. John noticeably trembles.

"I-I thought they were sharing it with y-you... being my emergency contact and all..."

Bruce straightens up and off the bed in a quick sweeping motion. John shuffles after him but doesn't get very far, grounding himself with his arms spread, fingers gripping tight around the metal frame of the bed; he sways and blinks hard. Bruce is halfway to the door before John collapses to the floor.

* * *

When he wakes, Bruce has him laid out on the mattress pad. John's thin wrist is swallowed in a warm, firm grip, forearm draped across Bruce's lap. John follows Bruce's line of sight to the man's wristwatch. It doesn't make sense until John can hear the throb of his own pulse pounding in his own ears, white noise flowing like rushing water. Bruce takes a deep breath runs a thumb over the rough scar at the centre of John's palm. He gives his hand a bit of a squeeze before lifting the limb to rest on John's chest. Bruce's eyes lock with John's,

"Do you know where you are right now?" John takes a moment to look around and confirm.

"My cell in Arkham Asylum."

"Do you remember what happened?" Bruce moves to press his hand to John's forehead and in turn John's eyes flutter shut. It's a relief from the fluorescent lights that pierce like needles into his retina, and secretly he hopes the afterimage of Bruce's silhouette lingers a little longer. John hums in response, clearing his throat, thick with dried salvia and a metallic tinge that reminds him of blood. He must have had a rough collision with the cement floor because the whole of the right side of his face aches and burns. The last thing John remembers is seeing Bruce's back, except everything is skewed and his vision is sideways and upside down at the same time.

"Not really."

"When did you eat last?" That's an easier question and John rolls his head, stretching his neck and pushing his forehead up into the comfort of Bruce's palm.

"This morning. They wouldn't let me see you today if I didn't at least have breakfast." His stomach heaved at the memory of the tasteless, rubbery, powdered eggs, sprinkled with the bitterness of the pills. John knew the difference in taste; it was what he lived off of for as long as he could remember from his previous days in Arkham.

Bruce is silent for a moment before pulling his hand away; John pouts in protest, cracking open a lid to eye the other man.

"I'm going to get to the bottom of this, I promise."

"Pinky promise?" Bruce takes John's whole hand tightly in his.

"Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its a little shorter than what i was hoping but I'll make up for it in the next chapters. I wanted to post at least something, y'know? <3 the Big Mood for this OTP has been the song Psycho by Breaking Benjamin. Might not be everyone's cup of tea, but it might be worth a listen <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Dont be afraid to leave a comment <3 message me or find my gt @ caekun.tumblr.com


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